


Not What I Ordered

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek orders himself a bottom from a high-class escort service.  What he gets is…Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What I Ordered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moodwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodwriter/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 10: Gift for Moodwriter.
> 
> Happy December 10th!

At exactly 9pm, there’s a quick rapping of knuckles at his door. Derek grimaces at himself for being right next to it, low level excitement ensuring he stayed right there. He smoothes his hands down his thighs before undoing the deadbolt and throwing the door open wide.

He hadn’t looked through the peephole, had wanted to see his first glimpse of his birthday present to himself in real life, not distorted by a fisheye lens. But maybe he should have, because he’s fairly certain he’s gaping like a goddamn fool.

The man standing across his threshold is… perfect. He’s tall — about Derek’s height, maybe an inch shorter — with brown hair artlessly styled. His eyes catch the light and nearly glow, they’re such a light, warm brown. If Derek was given to dramatics, he’d call them _honey-brown_ or _caramel colored._

His lips are flushed with healthy color and pulled wide in a wicked smile that _does_ things to Derek. His cheeks are clean-shaven, showing the high cut of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. He has a smattering of moles that only enhance his appearance and his nose is almost _too_ cute.

He’s dressed in a bright red suit that should really just be a garish eyesore, but he manages to make it look _good_. It doesn’t hurt that his body is all long, lean lines. 

Derek’s mouth is watering at the sight of him. It’s ridiculous.

The man raises a hand, gripping the doorjamb, and his own gaze crawls down Derek’s body, returning the favor. “Hi,” he murmurs, his voice making something in Derek’s gut clench with longing. “I’m Stiles. And I cannot wait to get better acquainted with _you_.”

Derek blinks twice, because the words are right — though slightly cheesy — but _Stiles_ seems to be addressing the words to… “Are you talking to my dick?”

He’ll probably be reliving the horror of those words five years from now during odd moments, but he has to know.

Stiles slowly drags his eyes back up, a tease and flirtation in one long glance and grins. “Yep.”

Okay, then.

"You gonna invite me inside, Derek?"

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask how Stiles knows his name, but at the last second, Derek’s brain reboots and he keeps the question behind his teeth. Trying to reassert control over his life, Derek calmly steps aside, gesturing for Stiles to join him. 

Stiles steps inside, all grace, and immediately turns to Derek, sliding his hands up the planes of Derek’s chest and winding them around the back of his neck and up into his hair before tugging him forward into a kiss. Only it’s unlike any first kiss Derek’s ever participated in. There’s no soft prelude, no hesitant brush of lips. Stiles meets him, lips parted and sweet breath rushing over Derek’s mouth before his teeth sink into Derek’s bottom lip, tugging and swiping his tongue over it. Derek gasps, opening his mouth, and Stiles seizes that opportunity to deepen the kiss, turning it hot and filthy, _fucking_ his tongue into Derek’s mouth.

As abruptly as the kiss started, it ends, Stiles pulling back with a low moan. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs, voice low. “I am going to have so much fun with you.” He flicks his tongue over his kiss-wet lips, eyes darkening like he can taste Derek on them. 

Dropping his hands from around Derek’s neck, Stiles steps back, toeing off his shoes as his fingers begin undoing the buttons of his suit jacket. “You have two choices. For now. There will be more choices later, of course, but for now… We can sit out here, have some awkward small talk, drink a glass of overpriced wine, and waste thirty minutes. Or — and this is my preference, if you couldn’t tell — we get naked and I put my mouth on your dick.” Stiles steps forward, cupping Derek through his jeans. “Please choose door number 2.”

Derek can’t help the way he bucks his hips into Stiles’ grip, eyelids fluttering as pleasure washes through him. “Well,” he says, his own voice a dry croak, “you did say you wanted to get to know it better.”

"Fucking. Yay." Stiles leans forward and sinks his teeth into Derek’s neck, making him hiss and buck his hips again.

He scrabbles at Stiles shoulders, unaccountably upset to feel the thick cloth of Stiles suit jacket under his hands. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

"All the best gifts come in hard to open wrapping," Stiles shoots back, nosing along the vee of Derek’s henley.

"It’s my birthday. Does that mean I get to unwrap you?" Derek doesn’t know where the words are coming from; he’s usually far more reticent, especially with people he’s just met.

Stiles steps back, seeming reluctant when he finally pulls his hand away from the telling bulge of Derek’s dick. Spreading his arms wide like a stage performer, his unbuttoned jacket opens to show a vest underneath, which accentuates his narrow waist and flat belly. “Happy fucking birthday to you.”

Derek steps forward, slips the jacket from Stiles’ shoulders, and drags it off his arms. The material is warm from Stiles body when Derek folds it and lays it gently over the back of his leather sectional. When he steps back toward Stiles, he grips him by the shoulders, applying firm pressure until Stiles’ back is pressed to his chest. Derek reaches around him then, lets his fingers trace the edge of Stiles’ vest until they run into buttons, slipping them slowly free. 

In the meantime, Derek scrapes his teeth along the exposed skin at the back of Stiles’ neck and grinds his hips forward, driving his trapped erection into Stiles’ pert little ass. Stiles shudders, head falling forward to give Derek better access.

The vest gets folded with Stiles jacket, and then Derek’s hands fall to Stiles’ hips, gently guiding him forward. “I want a bed close for this next part.”

Stiles murmurs his agreement, letting Derek guide him through the spacious apartment and into his bedroom. “Nice bed. I hope you don’t like those sheets.”

"Why wouldn’t I?" Derek sucks the lobe of Stiles’ ear into his mouth as he waits for the answer.

"Because _we_ ,” Stiles shivers when Derek flicks his tongue just so, “are going to _wreck_ them. I’m going to pound your ass so good, it wouldn’t surprise me if you—”

"What?" Derek blinks, confusion swamping him as he interrupts Stiles’ flow of words. "You mean, I’m gonna pound _your_ ass. Right?”

Stiles goes still against him before easing away and turning to look at Derek. “Noooo. You ordered a top. That’s me. I’m a top. Well, I mean, I’m a switch, but I’m still recovering from…” Stiles waves his arms, a little flaily, and his cheeks are all splotchy with color. 

"I, uh. I actually ordered a bottom."

Stiles’ entire face falls. It’d be hilarious if Derek hadn’t been looking forward to this for _days_. “But….” He lets out a wounded noise, once more raking his gaze over Derek’s body. “Are you sure?” It almost sounds like a whine. Then he shakes his head abruptly, looking rueful. “Sorry, I… let me just call the service. See if there’s anyone else available.”

Before Derek can stop him, Stiles is backing out of his bedroom pulling a phone from his pants. Derek stands there for a long minute, wondering why the hell his life is such utter shit, then he edges toward the doorway, intending to blatantly eavesdrop on Stiles’ conversation. 

"Kira," Stiles is whining, just a little. "You haven’t _seen_ this guy. I want to wrap him up and put him under my Christmas tree as a present to _myself_. He’s…” Stiles makes an explosion sound, and Derek has to bite back a grin. “Not even Danny?” Stiles is saying now, then, “Shit. Okay, I’ll see if I can set up another date with him. I’d totally ride him all night, but after that thing with those twins the other day… No, I know. I’m not stupid. Listen, make sure you reimburse his fee. This is on us, not him.”

Derek scurries back from the door and eases onto his bed, nonchalantly examining his fingernails when Stiles steps back into the room. 

"Derek," Stiles steps closer, sinking to his knees in front of Derek to put them on a closer-to-even sight line. "I am so sorry about this, but there’s no one else available on such short notice. I would, and I will, if you want to set up another date, but tonight is just out for health reasons."

Having Stiles there, between his splayed thighs, is making Derek extremely resistant to the night ending. Which is the only excuse he has for opening his mouth and blurting out, “It’s fine. You can fuck me.”

Stiles rears back, surprise on his face. “What? No, no, you don’t have to do that. You ordered a bottom and you’re going to get one, just, you know, _later_. We’ll totally do something else tonight.”

Derek narrows his eyes, suddenly stubborn about this. “Look, it’s not like I’ve never had a dick in my ass, Stiles. It’s just not what I was specifically planning for tonight. But plans change and I’ve met you and I want _you_. Now. Tonight. So get up here and fuck me.”

A predatory glint reappears in Stiles’ eyes, and his expression shifts from apologetic to hungry. “One more time. Tell me what you want.”

"I want you," Derek says, and then realizes how revealing that is. "To fuck me," he tacks on hurriedly. 

Stiles surges up, knocking Derek backward on the bed and stretching out over him. As soon as his shirt disappears, Stiles is there, kissing his way into Derek’s mouth again, licking and biting and ramping things back up to where they were before they’d stopped earlier. His hands are everywhere, stroking and pinching, grabbing handfuls of flesh as he moans into Derek’s mouth with each new discovery. 

Derek’s own fingers get tangled up in Stiles’ shirt and tie, desperate to get underneath them to the warm skin he can feel underneath. When he finally pulls Stiles’ shirt off his shoulders, it gets trapped around his elbows because Stiles isn’t willing to leave off unbuttoning Derek’s jeans long enough to free his arms. 

Growling softly, Stiles pulls away, slithering down Derek’s body to mouth at the front of his underwear as his jeans part. “God,” he moans. “Fuck, look at you.” His hands turn frantic, yanking the denim material down Derek’s thighs. “Off off off.” He scrambles off the bed, tearing his shirt off his wrists and then smoothly unhooking Derek’s jeans from where they’d caught up around his ankles. Once they’re free, Stiles shucks his own pants, obviously uncaring of wrinkles when he just tosses them behind him in a heap. Then he blinks, says, “shit,” and picks them back up, digging in the pocket and pulling out condoms and lube, throwing them on the bed before dropping his pants once again.

Stiles bounds onto the bed, straddles Derek’s thighs, and grins wildly down at him as he begins dragging his underwear-covered dick back and forth over Derek’s. Derek can feel Stiles’ balls, plump and full, bunching up and dragging against the base of his dick on every upstroke, and the full, flaring head catches against his on the downstroke. Derek sucks in a sharp breath and forgets to let it out, his stomach muscles leaping from the friction. Shoving his hands into the back of Stiles’ underwear, he grips his ass and pushes down, raising his own hips into each rocking thrust. 

"Fuck!" He squeezes Stiles’ ass, head digging into the mattress behind him as he clenches his jaw, trying to slow himself down before he comes just from this. "I need…"

"God, yeah, me too." And with that, Stiles is moving down again, easing Derek’s underwear off his dick and down his legs, abandoning them around his calves as Stiles opens his mouth and sucks him straight down.

Derek’s automatic shout is almost soundless, and his balls are already drawing up, his stomach clenching with heat. Stiles slides one hand under his thigh, lifting and spreading it wide before a dry finger begins to tease at Derek’s hole, just tickling over it. Stiles drags that finger up, pressure firm over his perineum, then light again as it traces the seam of his balls before disappearing. For long seconds, all Derek can focus on is Stiles’ sucking, hot mouth, and then his finger is back, wet with lube, massaging Derek’s rim before pushing in smoothly, unerringly finding his prostate and rubbing it relentlessly. Derek’s fingers thread into Stiles’ hair, tugging, desperate to stave off the orgasm that’s about to explode from him.

Stiles raises up, eyes slits of pure, cat-like pleasure, mouth red and open. “Derek,” he slurs, pulling against Derek’s grip, whining when he can’t do more than lap at the tip of his dick. 

"I’m gonna… too soon…"

"God yes," Stiles hisses, free hand spasming where it’s gripping Derek’s hip. "Come for me, choke me with it." And then he wrestles against Derek’s hold, pushing his face down until his nose is buried in the hair at the base of Derek’s dick, his throat a tight, muscular squeeze around the head. He pushes another finger past Derek’s rim, adding it to the first, massaging him firmly.

Like permission was all he was waiting for, Derek lets go, curling up with the force of that first long, breath-stealing orgasm. When it’s over, when his balls feel wrung out, he comes back to himself enough to feel Stiles dragging the flat of his tongue over Derek’s dick, cleaning every trace of come from it. His fingers are still buried in Derek’s ass, giving a small twitch every now and again.

Looking up the length of Derek’s body, he grins and sits up, wriggling his hips a little. “Okay, so… Let’s readdress the issue before us. Fucking,” he pumps his fingers once, “or no fucking?” At that, he begins to slide them free, laughing a little breathlessly when Derek automatically clenches his ass to keep them there.

Though he still feels lazy and spent, Derek curls one leg behind Stiles’ back, pulling him forward. “Put your dick in me, goddammit.”

Stiles moves up, bracing himself over Derek’s chest, pausing momentarily before he says, “Kiss?”

Derek nods, lifting his head. 

Stiles slots their mouths together, and the kiss this time is all sweet and druggingly slow. He pumps his fingers lazily, stretching Derek, sliding another in like an afterthought. It’s a stretch, but a good one, makes sensation zip up and down Derek’s spine. 

Stiles pulls his mouth away, licking and sucking down the length of Derek’s neck, latching his teeth around his collar bone and nibbling lightly. When he gets to Derek’s chest, he sighs happily, scrubbing his nose back and forth through the thick hair there. He tongues at Derek’s nipples, making little, pleased noises in the back of his throat when that causes Derek to perk up, his hips rolling into the motions of Stiles’ hand.

From there it goes quickly, Stiles fingers trembling a little as he rolls the condom on and spreads a thick layer of lube over his dick. He sits back on his knees, pulls Derek into his lap, and slides into him, slow and thick. Derek pushes himself up, his entire body weight resting on his arms as he grinds his ass onto Stiles’ dick, head thrown back as he lets the pleasure roll through him.

Stiles smoothes a hand up his body, tangles his fingers in Derek’s chest hair before dragging them back down, stair stepping down Derek’s bunching abs, and wrapping them around his dick. He jacks Derek slow and perfect, twisting at the head and squeezing all the way back down.

When Derek’s arms start shaking, Stiles surges up, puts him on his back, nearly folding him in half as he picks up the pace, jackhammering into Derek’s ass, the position ensuring that he’s nailing Derek’s prostate every time. And his hand doesn’t stop, just strips Derek’s cock with the same ruthless rhythm his hips are moving to.

Derek’s second orgasm blindsides him. He’d been too busy watching Stiles’ face contort with pleasure to pay attention to his own body. But when the first rope of come hits his chin, Stiles is watching. And his mouth drops open in awe before his eyes squeeze shut, hips stuttering and dick beginning to pulse in Derek’s ass.

Stiles falls back to his knees, grinding into Derek twice more before he pulls out with a hiss, fingers holding the condom tight. It seems to take the last of his strength to tie off the condom and wrap it in a tissue, because as soon as that’s done, he collapses forward, forehead landing on Derek’s chest and body heaving as he tries to regain his breath. “Holy shit,” he finally whispers. “I love my job.”

Derek laughs, he can’t help it.

Stiles inch-worms up Derek’s body, tonguing lazily at the congealing come he finds on the way, until their heads are aligned on the pillow. “Got any plans for Saturday?” he asks, smiling big and bright.

Derek shakes his head, a question trying to form on his come-dumb tongue and failing miserably.

"My ass will be ready for action. And I really want your dick in me."

And well, who can say no to that?


End file.
